stories
by alchemia
Summary: Stories about Eric, or written from his perspective. Honestly it could be either Eric or Alexander Skarsgard himself. I hope you'll enjoy and leave a review so I know if I'm going in the right direction.
1. silent

_- silent -_

I.

He's looking at me that way again.

Not the old way, the blue-flame way, eyes burning bright with confidence and desire. I know that look well, saw it daily months ago. This isn't it. Rather, it's the sad look, the lost-and-lonely look, the how-could-you-hurt-me-so look, the one that makes me far more uncomfortable than his brilliantly wicked sneer ever did. Those eyes are not flames but oceans, brimming over with tides neither of us could ever control.

I try to ignore it. I'm sitting in my usual spot in front of the fire, not reading the newspaper I hold in my hands. The headline blares in too-large font of another shooting at a school, the accompanying photograph a blurred image of pain: A teenage girl, crying as a stretcher is loaded into an ambulance. A typical evening.

My eyes keep wandering over to the image of pain in the doorway. I let my eyes unfocus, letting the flickering yellow flames and flat grey paper in front of me become a blazing smudge of color. I don't want to look at him. I don't want to have to be the balm he uses to assuage his pain.

What am I talking about? We use each other.

I don't hear footsteps, of course; he's far too refined for such mortal sounds. But he's not in the doorway anymore. He's fallen at my feet, pulling himself up to rest his head in my lap.

The viking and the...?

He bats the paper out of my hand, tossing it with a slap into the fire, and I watch the girl's face as it burns. He won't speak. He hasn't in days. He's just been looking at me, and I can almost hear his thoughts: _Love me. I need you. I need it to stop._

I let out a breath, look down at him, and slowly, carefully rest the palm of my hand on top of his head, feeling the fine blonde hairs matted and grimy from not being washed. "We can't go on like this" I hear myself say.

He doesn't reply. He's fallen asleep.

II.

The sidewalk is still too bright, making me squint and hold my shaking hand over my eyes, but at least it's not truly blinding yet.

I hear another muffled pop, and the sidewalk is pelted with another rain of painful sparks. I nearly step on a cable dangling from a broken phone booth next to me as I walk.

Another loud noise, quite close this time, and I sigh and let the cracked sunglasses drop from the bridge of my nose, relishing the crunch as my booted foot crushes the flimsy plastic and wire. It's not as bright now, anyway; the sun has finally finished setting, and I have just destroyed all of the light bulbs along this route. Just to be sure.

Can't go on like this. Can't.

Won't.

III.

Three doors in one doorway: Wood covered with a thin layer of metal; glass; another of metal. Modern technology. The first two are open, and I'm leaning against the screen. Metal leaving dents in my cheek, a pattern of criss-crossed wires. I press harder and feel them dig into my skin. Cold and unyielding. Yet this pain is nothing. All I can really see is the black metal a fraction of an inch from my eyes; I would have to step back to see through the holes.

The air smells sharp, moist, and the sound of the rain wants to be an all-encompassing roar in my ears. I can hear cars streaming through rain-slicked streets miles away, people splashing through the puddles flooding the grey sidewalks. I can almost hear their thoughts, tickling at my mind, trying to get in. Soft, muted noises all around me, and the space where you should be is silent. I can't help but try to listen for you. But it never changes. You've always been silent for me. The house is empty.

"We can't go on like this," you said to me. I pretended I was sleeping. I was afraid to ask you what 'this' was.

But I know.

I step back from the screen, peer out at the gate, the yard, the street. My love. The puddles remind me of you. And it's quiet.


	2. possessions

There was a feeling of expectation in the air. There was a storm that wasgoing to burst free soon, like clouds clogging up the sky before a heavy

thunderstorm. I could see from the muscles in her back that she was tense, even though she tried her hardest to conceal it. I couldn't understand what

had happened to have caused this. Everything had been going so well lately.

Why wouldn't she be feeling as happy as myself? Weren't we finally together again? Did we not love each other? Did she still love me?

Doubt. The doubt was eating me up inside, and I couldn't rid myself from it.I asked her over and over, and the answer was always the same. Why then

this gut-wrenching doubt in my soul?

"Do you love me still?" I asked her.

Her muscles flexed before they ironed up once again. A flare of irritation lightened her face. Her green eyes flashed with indignity.

"You ask me this again?" She said.

The doubt was growing stronger. I wished to cry out but of course I could not do that, I was the strong one. I had to take care of her, had to make sure

nothing would ever hurt her. If there ever would be anything that would hurt her I would destroy it as certainly as I would love her to eternity.

"Why should I answer you if you never believe me?" She asked.

Why did she say that? Of course I believed her, as long as she said it.

But everyone could change their mind, couldn't they? I would die if she did, but it could happen. She turned around so all I could see was her back.

That was good. Now she could not see the doubt, the hurt, the pain reflected in my eyes. Never should I show her, she needs strength in me. I should

guard her as long as she trusts in me.

"You have been following me again, haven't you?"

Why did her voice sound like it was suppressed with anger? I had not meant any harm with it. I merely had to check if she was alright. And to

see if she would be coming home again. I was so afraid she would leave. What if she suddenly decided she didn't want to stay with me anymore and

just left. She was all I got left. My most valuable possession in the world.

"Yes."

She threw back her hair. A dark fountain of water, waves in a raging sea. How I wanted to stretch my arm and let my fingers slide through those

soft strands of loveliness. I did not do it of course, this was not the time. Perhaps when she slept, I could sit and watch that beautiful serene face

while brushing my fingers through her hair. I would do it tonight, like I did almost every night.

"Damn it, Eric. Why?"

Why? Why, she asked? Because I love you. I do love you so. Perhaps the question would be why you can't answer my question. Perhaps I should

spurn you away and have you come crawling back on hands and knees. You need me don't you? Don't you? Does she still need me? Silent anger is

raging behind her smooth face. Could she truly not need me anymore? Is her anger for me stilling everything she ever said she felt for me?

"You hate me." I stated, because I knew it was true. "That's why you can't answer my question, because you despise me."

Her face was shocked. Her eyes seemed to widen and then pulled together in two small slits. She threw up her hands in frustration. Why would she be so

perturbed by this if it was the truth, for surely it was? I realized I was going to lose her and despair filled me to the core.

Don't let her see.

Be strong.

"I do not hate you." She said sharply. "Don't act as if you don't know that."

Don't know what? If she doesn't hate me, then what? Why did she act as if I were a monster out to hurt her? Why can't she see I want nothing more than

for her to wrap her arms around me and whisper soothing words to quench my doubt? Why would I never let her do that?

"You have been playing with me ever since I moved in here." She said. "You have treated me like I am a possession. You asked me for love but gave me nothing. You keep eye on me like I am a prisoner. You ask me if I love you and never ever say anything in return."

What was she telling me? Why didn't it register in my mind? It was so important to her that I understood her, but I could not grasp her words.

Because you are the one I want to be with.

Without you I am nothing.

Without you my life is worthless.

Understand.

"I just can't take it anymore, Eric."

My name. It is pronounced with such care. I cannot believe that one day she would not speak it with affection anymore. One day her eyes will stay

dead when my lips will touch her hair. One day the sparkling green will be cold and unseeing when I enter the room. Or were they already? Why

had I not seen it coming?

"You follow me around the way a bloodhound follows a rabbit. I can never

find a moment of solitude without you overshadowing me. You have no trust

for me. Have you ever told me you loved me? Just once?"

God. Her eyes were brimmed with water, and still she stood there like the very princess of darkness and asked me if I loved her. Of course I do, why doesn't

she see? Does she not know me? Does not my very existence tell of my love for her?

"I am not your slave anymore. I do not live only for you."

How can she stay so calm? Can't she see what she is doing to me with those simple words? I can't let her see she is hurting me.

My face is like a statue.

No feelings will show of it, she will not be able to see the pain. I need to be strong, she is hurting and I need to be so strong.

"Do you love me?"

How can she ask me? How can she?

I would die for her. I would lie down and let the sun wash over me if she would ask it of me. I would perish the day she perished. She must know I love her. She must know it is so. Then why is she asking? Can it be true she doesn't know? Can it be possible she cannot see it at all?

"I do." I whispered.

I spoke so softly, but she heard. One small droplet traced down her cheek. How I wanted to take her in my arms and kiss the hurt from her eyes. How I wanted to see her smile and tell me how much she loves me, like she did not so long ago. When had everything gone wrong? Why couldn't she just let me be with her always?

She straightened up yet didn't let herself wipe the streak from her face. Her face was determined now.

A decision had been made.

I could feel myself stiffen with anxiety, and alarms started ringing in my ears. She was so sure of herself suddenly, and I had a feeling something terrible was about to happen.

"Love is not about possession." She said. "Love is about trust. It is about caring,and it is about letting each other free. It is a unity between souls, not a breaking of one for the other. You can't even say the words out right."

She talked about possession. She was the one that possessed my heart. She was the one that could fill it with love, or shatter it with words. She is my sun in a life without day. She is the one I must keep with me at all costs. She is my soul.

"When you learn what love means, you can talk to me. When you understand what I have just told you."

She spoke so gently, yet the words hit me like a lightning bolt. She couldn't leave. She couldn't leave me alone. Everything I had feared had come true, and now she was leaving. She walked over to me and placed a gentle kiss on my lips. I tried to reach for her but she was already stepping back.

"I love you." She said.

Love is hate. Hate is love. I hated her for leaving me behind like this.

For a moment I hated her more than anything. Then the wall crumbled. The chant in my head was unstoppable.

_Dontleavemedontleavemedontleavemedontleaveme. _

And the pain made me feel so cold that it was almost too hard for me to breathe. My mask of nothingness shattered and everything I felt was dancing in my eyes. My face distorted in grief. I looked up.

"Wait…"

She was already gone. She got out of the apartment.

I tried to catch her words. Love. She had told me that she loved me, yet if she loved me why did she hurt me so? I saw her last look at me, and only now did I realize that it had not been hate or anger or resentment that had been reflected in her eyes. It had been loss and pain and regret and sorrow. Very much like the way I was feeling right now.

She left me.

To think? To suffer? To understand?

I looked back at the last months. She had been right. I had not lost sight of her one moment in all that time. I had been there always. I had been asking her for love, I had been counting on her love, needing it, but never did I tell her how much I loved her in return. There was much that I had to make up for.


End file.
